


Who You Are

by 401



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Amnesia, Anal Sex, Bucky Barnes Feels, Bucky Barnes Returns, Eventual Smut, Hospitals, Kissing, M/M, Nightmares, Panic Attack, Phobia, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Protective Steve Rogers, Steve Rogers Feels, i hate myself by this point
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-14
Updated: 2016-02-15
Packaged: 2018-05-20 13:16:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,130
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6007531
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/401/pseuds/401
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bucky Barnes returns after weeks missing, but knows very little about himself or Steve. The Captain helps him remember who he is.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Back

**Author's Note:**

> The lyrics at the beginning are from 'Who are You Really' by Mikky Ekko. It really is a wonderful song.

_You feel entitled to a sense of control,_

_And make decisions that you think are your own._

_You are a stranger here, why have you come?_

_Why have you come? Lift me higher let me look at the sun, look at the sun._

_And once you seem me clearly say 'who are you really'?_

Light hit the back of his skull with an uneasy pressure, pulsing around him like a bright white gas, lucid and poisonous. His eyes ached as the gurney he strapped to moved down the bleach scented halls of Washington General, the long fluorescent lights above him flicking in and out of view with a thrumming rhythm.

Bucky’s mouth went dry, the back of his throat sticking with bloody-tasting saliva. He closed his burning eyes, held open so strictly by distrust and adrenaline, but now too tired to hold their vigil. He ran his right hand over his left, relieved by the feeling of smooth metal where he had expected jagged flesh and exposed nerves.

_You’re not there anymore, don’t worry._

He could hear that voice, the man on the bridge. That golden, glowing man that stuck in his memories as a very warm addition to an otherwise bleak portfolio of broken and bloodied pictures. Bucky had come to the conclusion that he had to have been some sort of angel, met on one of his many brushes with death, but that would mean that he had made it to heaven which seemed unlikely. It was comforting, but it did not explain how he had come to this point in time, or why his shoulder hurt so badly.

“Sir, can you hear me?” There was a voice from Bucky’s left, female, strained false calm drowning all of her vowels in syrup, long drawn-out strands of sweetness like treacle off of a spoon.

Bucky did his best to nod, but found himself having to force back a gag when he moved his head; the room seemed to wobble and flex around him like a gyroscope.

The smell of rubber choked him suddenly, his mouth and nose covered by something solid. His vision greyed at the edges and his muscles loosened. It was a welcome mercy from the throbbing in his arm.

“Deep breaths, sir,” The same voice ordered, “And I’ll see you when you wake up.”

 ###

“Steve,” Natasha Romanoff leaned on the doorway of Steve’s room.

She had been staying with him for weeks now, moral support mainly. She had seen the Captain go downhill since the incident with the Winter Soldier and it hurt. He barely ate and much less slept, and a tired and spent look that she had never seen on Steve was starting to grow, a look of surrender. It was heart-breaking, yet obsessive, poring over the same, cold evidence in futile attempts to find the missing soldier he seemed to value more than his own safety. The pieces had fallen together in Natasha’s mind; Bucky was more than a friend. She had chosen no to bring it up.

“Steve?” she repeated, knocking on the doorframe.

Steve was sat on the edge of his bed. He had headphones on, the music was so loud that Natasha could hear the tinny sound of bass from across the room. Steve jolted into motion and pulled of the headphones when he noticed her.

“Hmm?” He mumbled, rubbing his eyes with the back of his wrist. He looked like hell.

“He’s back, Steve. They’ve found him.”

Steve’s eyes barely flicked in response to the revelation. Natasha knew that feeling, when you wait so long for news, you’ve practised the news itself over in your head so many times that it doesn’t shock you, but you don’t believe it all the same.

“Where?” Steve asked in a voice so dull and flat that it almost seemed like a statement rather than a question.

“Washington General, our officials reckon that Hydra must have gotten their hands on him for information since the Bridge. He seemed like he’d been… he’s in a bad way.”

Steve frowned.

“Seemed like he’d been _what_ Natasha?” Steve pressed.

“Tortured, Steve,” Nat sighed, an unfamiliar urge to hug the Captain prickling over her skin as she watched his face turn to one of pure pain.

“Okay lets go,” Steve stood sharply, “Grab a helmet, we’ll take the bike.”

Natasha blocked the doorway, placing two strong but cautious hands on Steve’s chest to stop him passing. The annoyance on Steve’s face was brutal, less guarded than it would ever usually be. Any tact he would usually have had been sanded down to the bone by fatigue.

“Move, Nat, come on!” He nudged her gently.

“Fury wants to do some checks before you get there, you know, make sure it’s really him…”

“Are you kidding me? I know, we’ve got reports of a man with no memory of his past and he’s covered in torture wounds. Oh, and by the way he’s healing at warp speed and has a cybernetic metal arm. Hell, I wonder who that could be!”

“Steve, it’s protocol,” Natasha soothed, watching the heat and colour spread over Steve’s cheeks.

“Fuck protocol! And fuck Fury too, because he’s probably just plotting some sick way to get Bucky on his training regime before I can get to him,” Steve turned and walked towards the door.

“If you’re coming, put on a helmet and come.”

Natasha let out long breath. It was the first time she had seen Steve curse, shout even. He prided himself on being able to get his point across without raising his voice.

 _“If you need to shout your point to get it heard, your point isn’t good enough,”_ He had said it once and it had stuck in Nat’s mind.

She picked up a helmet from Steve’s kitchen counter and pushed her hair behind her ears before putting it one and leaving the apartment in tow.

“I’m sorry for yelling,” Steve apologised quietly.

“I know,” Nat smiled.

 _Fury’s gonna kill me,_ She thought.

 


	2. A Battle of Wills

“Captain,” Nicholas Fury clapped his hands together and smirked, “Why am I not surprised?”

Natasha looked at the floor of the crowded hospital corridor. There were two officers outside of the nearest suite, standing squared with assault rifles across their chests. She noted the spasm in Steve’s jaw at the sarcasm and put a finger of warning against his elbow.

“You shouldn’t be,” Steve said flatly, “Excuse me, Nick.”  


Steve tried to edge past Fury, reaching around him and earning a stony look from one of the armed officers that was no match for his own.

“I can’t let you do that, Captain. I have no clue how he is going to react when he sees you and I am not going to risk a full scale incident in a crowded hospital because of your childhood crush.”

Natasha winced at the poor choice of words on Fury’s part, putting a foot between him and Steve. The tension in Steve’s body was instantly visible, his hands pressed into white-knuckled fists by his sides.

“Cool it down, Steve. Come on,” Natasha whispered, “Not here, he doesn’t need this.”  


“Don’t you dare talk about him like that,” Steve’s voice was dark and quiet, his eyes not leaving Fury for a moment, “This is something that _even you_ know nothing about.”

Fury coughed a laugh and pulled a handkerchief from his jacket pocket, dabbed his forehead with it and put it back. I riled Steve how calm he was; how calm he was managing to be when he held most of the pain Steve had felt in 90 years in his hands. He could feel his heart in his throat, and for the first time since he was a child, he could feel his anger coming dangerously close to tears. He had hated it, crying when he was mad. It was the kind of weakness you could not fight, thick ugly sobs and punched in walls. A total lack of control.

“What, and you do?” Steve hissed, “You know everything and nothing though, don’t you? You know all of the secrets and all of the governmental dark spots, every dirty little lie and it makes you feel smart, right? Well I’ve known Bucky since you needed the snot wiped off of your nose for you, and think that equates to more than every piece of shit conspiracy that you’ve ever been a part of.”

Fury straightened slightly, surprisingly unfazed head butt worthy proximity between him and Steve. Natasha stayed poised, hands strategically close to Steve’s. She expected something caustic, but was surprised with the calm that followed.

“Captain,” Fury placed his hands on Steve’s arms, catching him off guard and softening him instantly, “You are tired, you are angry and I don’t think now is the best time for you to be in a small room with someone who is just as tired and angry, and then some.”

Steve nodded and rubbed his hands over his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose until the flush of red turned white.

“When is the right time, Nick?” Steve muttered, looking at his feet.

The lull in energy was palpable, as was the twinge of unfamiliar emotion in Steve’s voice. Natasha ignored the wetness of his eyes and squeezed his elbow again gently.

“Fury, I have waited for _decades_.”

Fury nodded and gestured for the guards to stand down. Steve gave a short smile of gratitude and entered the hospital room.


	3. Golden

The Golden Man. That warmth. It was real.

Bucky pushed himself up into an awkward sitting position, panic instantly rising in his burning chest. This was the warmth that he had been taught to tear apart.

_This is Captain Rogers. Obliterate, at all costs._

Bucky’s heart rate hitched. He didn’t want to get rid of this warmth. The warmth felt good. He stifled that voice in the back of his head.

“Hey, Buck,” Steve raised his hand in a small wave. Natasha smiled and left quietly.

Bucky nodded in response, angling himself so the door was in sight. Captain Rogers was blocking it, it made him feel sick.

“How’re you feeling?” Steve pulled a chair up and sat next to Bucky’s bed.

There were a few iv lines, one in his hand and one in his elbow. One was dangling loosely by his side, obviously pulled out with the needle bent. Steve cringed thinking about it. One of the many components of Bucky’s left arm, the cybernetic one, had been removed. It visibly slowed his movements.

Bucky went to answer the question but faltered, unsure of how. Steve shuffled chair, so his knees weren’t wedged against the hospital bed. The scraping noise made Bucky gasp audibly, pulling away from Steve like he was on fire.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Steve whispered, instantly flustered.

 _Don’t blow this, Rogers,_ he thought, standing up quickly to move the chair more quietly.

Bucky shifted even more violently at the sudden change in height, putting his forearms up in front of him protectively.

“Shhh, you’re okay,” Steve soothed, putting his hands instinctively on the soldier’s raised forearms.

Bucky was still. Instantly still. Steve lowered himself slowly into his chair, keeping his hands on Bucky’s. He slid them down, to his wrists and then to his hands, lacing their fingers together whist carefully avoiding the cannula in the top of his right one. The metal was not a cold as he expected, cool but tainted with body heat. And smooth, completely smooth. Steve liked it.

“There we go, see?” Steve said quietly, rubbing his thumbs over the tops of Bucky’s hands steadily, “Your safe.”  


Bucky nodded slowly, eyes trained on Steve’s hands. They almost hot against his own and his right palm had a thick stripe of callous across it. This image of that blue and red shield flashed through Bucky’s head, with its rough leather straps coiled around the Captain’s hand for grip. The rhythmic beeping of the heart monitor next to them slowed a little. An odd bubble of pride rose in Steve’s chest.

“I’ve missed you. I’ve missed you so much, Bucky,” Steve sighed, leaning forward so that this forehead rested against Bucky’s thigh.

Bucky’s breath caught. Steve felt the jolt and pulled away but was surprised when metal fingers against the back of his neck pressed him back gently. Steve supressed a groan of contentment as Bucky’s fingertips combed absently through the hair at the nape of his neck. Cool metal against his scalp sent goose bumps over his shoulders and eyes filled with tears that he didn’t know were so close.

Bucky closed his eyes. The pain in his head had started to ease, replaced by comfortable fatigue, so he settled down to sleep for the first time in days, with gold at his fingertips.

 


End file.
